[Illustration:  ? ? ?] Business done.—­In Committee on Local Taxation Bill.

Thursday.—­“True, TOBY,” OLD MORALITY said, in reply to an observation, “I am a little tired, and naturally; things haven’t been going so well as they did; but I could get along well enough if it wasn’t for SUMMERS.  CONEYBEARE’S cantankerous; STORY is strenuous; TANNER tedious; and DILLON denunciatory.  But there’s something about SUMMERS that is peculiarly aggravating.  In the first place, he is, as far as appearances go, such a quiet, amiable, inoffensive young man.  Looking at him, one would think that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, much less that Mixed Marriages in Malta should keep him awake at night, and the question of International Arbitration should lower his appetite.  Yet you know how it is.  He seems to have some leisure on his hands; uses it to formulate conundrums; comes down here, and propounds them to me.  Just look at his list for to-night.  LINTORN SIMMONDS’S Mission to the POPE; Customs’ Duty in Algeria; International Arbitration; Walfish Bay, and Damara Land, together with the view the Cape Colonies may take of the Anglo-German Agreement.  That pretty well for one night; but he’s gone off now, to look up a fresh batch, which he’ll unfold to-morrow.  Now is the winter of our discontent, which is chilly enough; but, for my part, I often think that life would be endurable only for its SUMMERS.”

Haven’t often heard OLD MORALITY speak so bitterly; generally, even at worst time, overflowing with geniality; ready to take kindest view of circumstances, and hope for the best.  But SUMMERS, surveying mankind from China to Peru in search of material for fresh conundrum, too much for mildest-mannered man.  OLD MORALITY, goaded to verge of madness, jumps up; hotly declines to reply to SUMMERS; begs him to address his questions to Ministers to whose Department they belonged.

Business done.—­Local Taxation Bill through Committee.

Friday.—­Still in our ashes live our wonted fires.  Dwelling just now amid ashes of expiring Session; everything dull and deadly; pounding away at Local Taxation Bill; Scotch Members to the fore, for the fortieth time urging that the L40,000 allotted them in relief of school fees shall be made L90,000.  House divides, and also for fortieth time says “No;” expect to go on with next Amendment; when suddenly HARCOURT springs on OLD MORALITY’S back, digs his knuckles into his eyes, bites his ear, and observes that he “has never seen a piece of more unexampled insolence.”  OLD MORALITY, when he recovers breath, goes and tells the Master—­I mean the SPEAKER.  SPEAKER says HARCOURT shouldn’t use language like that; so HARCOURT subsides, and incident closes as rapidly and suddenly as it opened.

A little later COMPTON goes for RAIKES; hints that he sub-edited for Hansard portions of a speech delivered in House on Post Office affairs.  RAIKES says “Noble Lord charged me with having deliberately falsified my speech.”  COMPTON says he didn’t.  “Then,” said RAIKES, with pleading voice that went to every heart, “I wish the Noble Lord had the manliness to charge me with deliberate falsification.”  COMPTON refused to oblige; RAIKES really depressed.